


who casts no shadow at noon

by vespoidea



Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crossover, Gift Fic, M/M, Political Intrigue, emet-selch as solus zos galvus, it's just there as an excuse for them to meet though, lahabrea bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespoidea/pseuds/vespoidea
Summary: A portal between Hydaelyn and a land detached entirely from the Source opens. Emet-Selch and his fellow Ascians find a strange malaise there that may be worth harnessing.Written as a gift-fic for my partner's birthday.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Emet-Selch
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	who casts no shadow at noon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [organiccyborg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/organiccyborg/gifts).



> Hi! I wrote this as a gift for my partner on their birthday. It was originally just going to be straight up smut between Ardyn and Emet-Selch, but I got a little carried away with the set up. They're very fun to play off each other!

A rift that had opened in between Ilsabard and the near East. As expected, it had become of immediate interest to everyone on this spit of a star. That included Emet-Selch and his fellows. Those who had the luxury of abandoning their current tasks had gone through already, and reported a world barren of their One True God, filled with listless people haunted by voidsent when the sun set. Untethered to Zodiark or not, however, it was important to learn what they could of it, and see if there was anything from this unexpected source that could be exploited.

And exploitation there was, in plenty. Igeyohrm reported that the voidsent were all formed of the same darkness, an alien mass that was unseen in any of the fourteen shards. There were reports of gods, too - Bahamut, Shiva, Ifrit, Leviathan, Titan, and Ramuh. Yet unlike the primals of Source, these were true beings, full of immense power and divinity. Attempts to reach them were not fruitful. Thus, this darkness seemed a more concrete thing to focus attention on.

Igeyohrm relayed that the most concentrated gathering of this darkness could be found in the frozen capital of Niflheim. It so happened that the rift opened in the heart of the place - a mechanical capital known as _Gralea_. The similarity there was not lost on Emet-Selch, but it had little to do with his choice. As Solus zos Galvus, it only made sense for him to move the Empire of Garlemald to interact first.

Sitting in on meetings was usually a dull necessity for Emet-Selch. It was the same for any type of meeting, be it a consul, a military update, or even a laughable alliance negotiation between subjugated countries. Solus zos Galvus had to make an appearance, appear to listen, and then dictate how things would go. He’d worked very hard to make sure that this Empire would implode two or three generations down the line, and thus he accepted the required boredom as part of his work.

This one was, at least, going to be somewhat novel. 

The soldiers of Niflheim had been a swathe of automatons, directed by people in warmachina. _Magitek_ , they’d called it, in yet another example of this _similar, yet different_ that this world had with the Source. Emet-Selch’s disgruntlement slowly turned to intrigue: even from the ground, this was _new_ , and it had _potential_.

Tense talks had begun, information swapped, spies given. It seemed that its Emperor - Iedolas Aldercapt, by name - was the sort of megalomaniac he nurtured in his own ranks. The drama of butting heads with him would be delightful. Not only that, but the Chancellor of Niflheim was apparently an infuriation to deal with. The man would arrive late, take over from the flustered underling who had been left to negotiate, and then skip back the ground that Garlemald had just been given. By the time the first delegation of Aldercapt to Garlemald was accepted, Emet-Selch was almost anticipating putting this ‘Izunia’ in his place even more than smashing the egos of Solus and Aldercapt together.

The meeting room was large and spartan, reflecting the dark and narrow architecture of Garlemald’s finery. He sat alone at the long table. His retainers were off to one side, his Chancellor and attendants at the other. His Legatus standing two paces behind his shoulders. Only the Emperor sat; he was curious to see if Aldercapt would match him.

Soon enough, the doors were swung wide. The Garlean escort was followed by the eerie, mechanical marching of the Niflheim troopers, who fell into line at the wall and stared forward, the red glow of their eyes visible under their helms. Emet-Selch regarded them curiously; reports had spoken of automatons, yet he could feel… _something_ stirring deep within there. It was smaller even than the fractured souls all around him, but darker. This close, the sensation was almost piteous, if distasteful.

The Troopers preceded a hulking figure in armour like liquid metal, purple highlights flaring obnoxious and bright in the dark room. The man moved with the air of one of his Legatus. Even if Emet-Selch hadn’t known who he was, he would have pinned this one as General Glauca without the help of the retainer who had entered to announce the newcomers.

Glauca was followed by a far more interesting figure. Emet-Selch had seen the fevered intelligence of an exploitable madman before; Verstael Besithia would be an interesting one to pursue. He did, after all, preside over the Niflheim Magitek and its development. It would be a poor move from Solas not to follow that lead, at very least.

After Besithia entered, the retainer looked behind himself as if waiting for someone else to come in. He glanced worriedly at Besithia, who held up two fingers and made a swift flicking motion with them. The man swallowed, and announced: “His Imperial Majesty, His Radiance Iedolus of the Aldercapt dynasty, Emperor of Niflheim.” 

It seemed that Izunia would be running late to a meeting with the Emperor of Garlemald too, then. Emet-Selch allowed a small, half-smirk to touch Solus’ lips, raising a brow slightly so that the others knew the insult had been perceived. It gave him a small amount of pleasure to see that the Emperor had a harrassed expression above his white finery. The look was quickly washed away, but it had been there. A careful ploy, or genuine worry at his Chancellor’s actions?

One of Emet-Selch’s retainers approached the table. “You are in the presence of His Imperial Majesty, His Radiance, His--”

“I think we all know who we are,” Emet-Selch said. The retainer stepped smoothly back to position, well trained. Emet-Selch let his gaze flick over the Troopers, then the two men, before finally settling it on Aldercapt. He gestured with a languid hand. “Sit.” 

It was a command, and Aldercapt graciously took his seat. Glauca remained still as a statue, but Besithia also took a chair. Emet-Selch could practically hear the disparaging thoughts radiating from the Legatus at Aldercapt’s weakness. He gave a faint smile.

“I trust Garlemald has been to your liking?”

“You preside over a fascinating land. I would like to extend my thanks for your most hospitable welcome.” Aldercapt said. There was a practised smoothness to his voice that let Emet-Selch know he’d seen the insult. Yet there was a sickly expression to the man’s eyes, haunting the edge of his words and his expression. Emet-Selch’s spies had not been able to deduce any signs of addiction, or even frailty despite his age. Yet there it was, weak and almost feverish.

The small talk went on, and Emet-Selch was thankful that Garlean pleasantries were a brief thing. He didn’t tend towards jealousy of his peers, but it grated, slightly, to sit with the metaphorical cucumber sandwiches and hand them to the pale, frail souls that lived there.

“It has been truly fascinating to learn of your world, and how similar some of our standards are.” Emet-Selch gestured to the Troopers, who had not moved a single inch. They were interesting, in a perverse way; no animus lingered in them, yet that small, squirming _something_ itched at Emet-Selch’s mind. It was like looking at a particularly disgusting insect. “A mutual trade of information would be of interest to Garlemald, most certai--”

The doors swung open. Emet-Selch’s Legatus tensed behind him. The Imperial Legion troops behind the doors could be heard raising their weapons, but it didn’t stop a rather cheery voice from ringing out:

“Hello! Hello, do excuse me for being late! I ate a light lunch, and wished to learn more of Garlemald from the ground up… I suppose I let the time get away from me. I do hope I’ve not missed anything important!”

The man that entered looked like he could have been rolled out from under a park bench. He was swathed in fabric from head to toe, and a messy mane of hair jutted out from the gap between coat collar and hat. The unshaven face was bright with a jaunty grin and twinkling eyes. Izunia walked with a swing in his step that did not fully disguise the way he favoured one leg, which he stretched out before him as he took a low bow, doffing his hat in the process.

“Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim.”

Emet-Selch could only stare. Where the Troopers were a discomforting tickle, Izunia roared with _presence_. He was huge, larger even than his fellow Ascians, and repulsive in his swollen, shadowy mass.

There was some hubbub. Emet-Selch pulled himself away from looking at this patched web of fractured pieces and instead paid attention to the man that housed them. Izunia was straightening himself out of the bow and smiling placidly. It was as if he and his Emperor weren’t berated by Emet-Selch’s own Chancellor. Aldercapt looked at Izunia with a brittle, glittering brightness in his eyes. Besithia was even more blatant, with an intense _hunger_ burning in his gaze. Glauca was covered and remained still, unreadable, but the other two _worshipped_ Izunia, in some feverish way. Did they know what he was?

Emet-Selch watched the theatrical way the man threw his hand over his heart… 

“I do _beg_ most _humbly_ for forgiveness! But to be lost in a strange city… well, it’s a wonder I was able to make it here at all!”

… and he smirked.

“Of course,” he said, his voice cutting smoothly through the disgruntled voices of his own people. They instantly fell quiet, still as statues, as their Emperor spoke. “One must not expect you to know the place so intimately. Izunia, was it? Sit.” He gestured for the chair beside Aldercapt.

Izunia smiled at him, slimy and full of teeth. “Why, thank you, your Radiance! I hope this will be the start of a happy, healthy relationship.” He settled down on the chair, slouching most improperly as he stretched his leg out in front of him. “I do so like getting along with bizarre, otherworldly aliens!”

“Yes,” Emet-Selch said, and though his gaze didn’t flicker, he thought of the way the Troopers felt so diminished, “yes, you seem the type to enjoy that.”

* * *

“Izunia is dangerous,” Emet-Selch said. He hadn’t bothered to turn as Lahabrea manifested in the room. He continued to scribble orders to the Garlean master of secrets. “That darkness of that world heavily concentrated within him. He was likely the source of the congregation the others felt.”

He finally turned to him. It was hard not to roll his eyes; Lahabrea had picked up _another_ new vessel. Though his soul was still correct and whole, it was little doubt that the man was losing himself. Jumping between vessels like that… things could contour to a shape, and lose the memory of its own.

“Got yourself a new set of clothes, did you?”

“Izunia,” Lahabrea ignored the jibe, “the Chancellor. Yes, I’ve been keeping an eye on him. It hasn’t been easy getting information on him. He seems to have shown up from nowhere, introduced to the Emperor by Besithia.”

“Unsurprising. Besithia’s work reeks of that darkness.”

“They use it like ceruleum, and call it _Miasma_ . More digging names it as _Starscourge_ , and it is this illness that turns the people of that world into voidsent.”

Emet-Selch sat back in his chair. “You have Igeyohrm on the ground investigating this, don’t you?”

“She has much to make up for.” 

“She does. Continue.”

“Having infiltrated Besithia’s workspace, she is in the best position to learn more. Much of it is how they use this Starscourge to make their Magitek and their Troopers… cloning, infection, a process called _sublimation_ … all niche, not useful for us at this precise time. Yet more digging has revealed that the _Starscourge_ originated as a plasmodium.”

“A… plasmodium?” Emet-Selch raised his brows. It was anti-climatic, but also quite interesting.

“Some mutation of a malarial parasite, it would seem. Besithia posits that it may have evolved against the light aether that was used in cleansing it.”

Lahabrea let his words hang in the air, knowing that that was a promising lead. Emet-Selch drummed his fingers on the table, his expression laconic but his mind racing. A parasite adapting itself to dark aether to infest a host, and thus invite voidsent to take the body… there was potential there. And yet… when he thought of Izunia, how a mass of _parts_ , a thousand times sundered souls crushed around the base soul at the center, he knew that wasn’t all.

“... No. There’s more to it than that,” he eventually said. “Izunia is the key to understanding it. This is more than the rot of a body that breaks down defenses to other parts… the soul is being rotted, too. Subsumed, not _consumed_.”

“You believe so? There was an infantryman in the Mess Hall that reeked of this Miasma, too.”

Emet-Selch sat straight, brows knitting together. “When was this?”

“While you were receiving the Emperor. I observed him for a time.” Lahabrea folded his arms, tilting his head. “He felt… massy. Bloated. As though many parts --”

“Were crushed into one soul,” Emet-Selch finished. Lahabrea gave a hum of confirmation. He drummed his fingers on the table. An infantryman of his own place… well, that had to be a spy sent over from Niflheim, surely. But how could there be _two_ such vile creatures? It didn’t seem correct.

“Look at Izunia again. I will get closer to the man, and when we have both been around him, we can see if he matches this infantryman that you saw. I suppose I had best have the captain of the Emperor’s personal guard look into that.” Not that she’d know exactly what she wanted him to find, but he could get a description and oust him as a traitor. _If_ he existed. “In the meantime, have Igeyohrm look into this _sublimation_ process thoroughly. I’ll wager my hypothesis is correct.”

“You almost sound infatuated.”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “As I said, go and see him again. And _only_ see, mark you. If you tried to use him as a vessel, you’d likely not come out unsullied.”

Lahabrea left.

* * *

“I almost didn’t expect it to rain here,” Izunia said, twirling his umbrella. The errant flecks of water were thrown out in an arc, spattering across the armour of Junia van Lucius, Emet-Selch’s personal guard. He gave a small smile, knowing that despite the woman’s stoic stillness, she would be burning inside from anger. “Maybe thunder and lightning. Perhaps a freak hailstorm. But not something as gentle as _rain_.”

“We can be thankful that the pleasant weather has seen your Emperor off, Chancellor,” Emet-Selch said, watching as Aldercapt, Glauca, and Besithia left with their entourage. The Garlean division going with them was small, much like Izunia’s group of Troopers left behind. He turned (his attendant dutifully moving around him with his umbrella) and fixed Izunia with a laconic smile. “An auspicious sign, if one were to believe in such things.”

“I will happily drink to that, your Radiance.” Izunia dipped his umbrella as if tipping a wine glass at him. It jostled more water off the umbrella onto his Junia’s breastplate. Emet-Selch thought it a wonder that steam wasn’t erupting from under her very dry helmet. 

“I would be delighted, Chancellor. Why not make it a meeting tonight, in that case?”

“Splendid! I shall see you --”

Izunia was cut off by a shout of alarm. Junia immediately dropped her umbrella and withdrew her sword. She stood in front of Emet-Selch, ready to fight and die for her Emperor. He looked over her to see the cause of the commotion. When he saw it, he raised his brows. 

An unsightly creature was lashing out at the guards. It looked like a skinless human, but with scythes piercing through its hands and bony growths jutting from its head and back. The infantrymen of Junia’s legion immediately engaged it. It dispatched two with ease, piercing through their heavy armour in a swipe that sent them sprawling. Unfettered now by surprise, the rest of the Legion plunged at it with sword and spear, only to have it vanish into black mist.

Emet-Selch looked at Izunia, who was staring at the creature with an expression of frank astonishment on his face. It would have fooled a casual onlooker, but Emet-Selch could see the bloated mass of parts that surrounded Izunia’s soul. It resonated with this one -- that same twisted darkness. The man could not be surprised to see this thing here.

One of the infantrymen skewered the creature with his polearm. That seemed to be a signal for Izunia, who shook himself out of the faux-shock and commanded his Troopers to fire. In fluid succession, the mechanical men raised their guns and riddled the ugly thing with bullets. In time, it slumped over the polearm still skewering it and began to fade. Thin black mist trailed up from its body as it slowly flaked away, until it was little more than swirling wisps of smoke drifting between the rain.

“Foras,” Izunia said, into the silence. Junia turned on him, the ferocity of her glare blatant through her helmet. “It must have come through the rift in the night. You’ll want to train your searchlights on that area,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the rift. “They are held at bay by bright light, and believe me… you _don’t_ want them spreading.”

“I believe,” Emet-Selch said, before his men could say anything for him, “that we might have that meeting right now, Chancellor.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Emet-Selch did try to keep the Garlean aesthetic of dark lines and barren walls through most of his stay, but a little of the decor of his homeland had crept into his solar. He supposed it was a small vanity, and one harmless enough to indulge. He was seated on one of the tall backed chairs, class of wine at his elbow as he rested it on the table. Izunia sat across from him, his good leg slung over the bad, swirling the dregs of wine in his glass. A chessboard lay on the table between them. 

Emet-Selch neither liked nor disliked chess. It simply lost some of the savour when he had been forced to play it for so long with fractured souls, manipulating the pale things they called lives infinitesimally to reach a goal so far away it sometimes felt hopeless. Izunia, however, seemed to love the game. He was quite good at it, too. Several of Emet-Selch’s black pieces were stacked at his end of the board.

“So you haven’t yet put in place methods for preventing these voidsent - these _daemons_ \- from coming through the rift?” Emet-Selch questioned, raising his wine to his lips. He took a sip, held it in his mouth, and continued, “forgive any appearance of accusation, but one would have considered that a first priority.”

“You must understand that affliction of the Starscourge does not form from the moment of infection,” Ardyn said, holding out his wineglass for it to be refilled. The attendant refilled it from a fresh jug. “It could very well be that the Miasma of the previously infected was lingering in that area and, drawn to the vast gulf of aether, slipped through the rift before talks had even begun. A Foras is a strong daemon, and could have taken some time to form.”

Emet-Selch stroked his finger up and down one of the bishop pieces on his board. He’d already identified the best spot for it some time ago, but he’d found lingering had its own benefits. He glanced at the attendant. The new jug smoked very slightly, the wine heated. Izunia ought to have been slurring his words by now. Either the man had an incredible constitution, or wine was stronger in Eos than this star. “And I am sure you have floodlights pointing at the rift at all times now, of course?” 

“As soon as we realized its presence! Quite apart from keeping the Troopers stationed there free from daemonic attack, it would make anything that slipped through easy to spot.”

“Anything that slipped through… such as us Garleans?”

“With respect, your Radiance, you’d be rather noticeable even in the blackest pitch of night.”

Emet-Selch captured Ardyn’s knight with his bishop. He drained his own wine.

“You know, Chancellor -”

“Please, your Radiance, I’d like us to be friends! Call me _Ardyn_ , would you?”

“Very well.” He smirked, twirling the knight between his fingers. “Ardyn, then. I have been wondering what you said after you joined us after receiving you. That you ‘ate a light lunch’ before joining us.”

“Oh yes?”

“None of my men can identify where you dropped off to eat. A man of your… particular style is not easy to miss, even if you were a native to this place. Or expected at a meeting with the Emperor of Garlemald.”

“Ah, I’ve often found that just _acting_ like you belong in a place can make even a native believe that you do.” There wasn’t even a flicker in Izunia’s - no, _Ardyn’s -_ expression. Emet-Selch wondered if he had been _hoping_ this would have been brought up.

“That is true.” Emet-Selch had become Emperor doing just that, after all. “But indulge my curiosity. Where on earth did you go?”

“If you must know,” Ardyn said, with a great and weary sigh, “I went to the Mess Hall.”

“The Mess Hall.” Well. That certainly implied Lahabrea’s infantryman and Ardyn were one in the same. How did he fool him? Could Ardyn change his shape?

“Yes. Rather pleasant meals you do for your infantrymen. I quite enjoyed the beef goulash.”

“And nobody noticed you in the Mess Hall, eating beef goulash?”

Ardyn set his glass down. He lifted his queen and took Emet-Selch’s other bishop. “I think that fellow in the red mask probably spotted me. But then, he seems a tad more observant than others.” He smiled, winsomely. “Rather like yourself, Solus.”

Emet-Selch couldn’t hide the way his eyes widened. Covering the expression would only make the shock more obvious, so he leaned into it. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come now, Solus. I wasn’t born yesterday. It’s not fair if only I get to be seen, isn’t it? And you saw right through me the moment I stepped into the room.” Ardyn sat forward, his chin resting on his hand. “So who was he? A brother? A co-worker? A particularly observant spy that Garlemald didn’t expect me to see?”

This was becoming difficult terrain. Emet-Selch looked to the attendant. “Dismissed,” he said, with a flick of his hand. The man didn’t move. Emet-Selch blinked, and saw the wisps of aether that twisted into a time spell, stopping all around them. He turned back to Ardyn, who was smiling at him.

“Don’t mind him. This seemed private, so I took the liberty.” He leaned back, swirling his wine. “We’re neither what we seem, are we, Solus zos Galvus?”

This was unexpected. Not threatening, but unexpected. Emet-Selch almost felt… _excited_ . By Zodiark, when was the last time he’d felt that? In a thousand _thousand_ years of scheming, he’d finally spotted something new.

“No,” he said, and smirked at him. “We’re not.”

* * *

Garlemald was always dark, and yet it was never truly _dim_. The searchlights fixed on the rift weren’t the only ones roving the capital. Ceruleum power lit the place in stark lines, bright against the black. Emet-Selch thought it rather ugly, but it did the job.

“Ascian,” Ardyn said, “A person or persons who casts no shadow at noon.” He looked Emet-Selch up and down, then down to where the stark lines of light threw their shadows high onto the wall. He shook his head. “And yet there’s yours, right there. Does it mean something else in your tongue?”

“Ha. In truth, that is why we were named such.” Emet-Selch glanced back at the shadow of Solus zos Galvus. “It truly is bizarre how similar your world is to this one.” And yet it was no shard. That great usurper did not thrum through it. There was something else claiming power there. 

“Indeed! Especially as Ancient Lucian isn’t used for much these days. Well, saved for naming the people of Insomnia.” Ardyn’s voice was curiously light when he mentioned them. Since he had dropped most of the jovial act, hearing the tone back in his voice did raise some questions. Did he, as Chancellor of Niflheim, dislike the folk there? Or was it something deeper?

Perhaps he should press him about that -- but gently.

“Adagium,” he said, tasting the word on his tongue. “As in, _adage_ , perhaps? An old proverb?”

“Something like that.” And now, instead of the false joviality, there was a flatness to Ardyn’s voice that spoke of untold pain. It was like when Lahabrea spoke of Amaurot. Loss, grief, anger… but in Ardyn’s flatness there was something that would be horrifying, if one of them adopted it: _acceptance._

Again, that could be useful. Emet-Selch hummed, thoughtful. He traced his fingers over the edge of the balcony. “And that makes you the…”

“Accursed, yes.” The man’s smile was a flash of white teeth. His yellow eyes glittered with playful malice as he looked over the balcony. Black ichor slowly filmed around his eyes and mouth, liming his cheeks and teeth in oily darkness. Faint dark particles seemed to wisp from his hair, his skin, his clothes. When Emet-Selch looked into that ghoulish face, he saw a darkness that had nothing to do with Zodiark or Hydaelan staring back at him. “The Starscourge would take this world apart in moments. It would rip your Empire to shreds, first.”

“This Empire will rip itself to shreds,” Emet-Selch said, shrugging his shoulders. “Just so long as Solus dies before it, I hardly mind.”

“Why not now? A little war between worlds might spice things up, from a spectator’s point of view.” Black ichor oozed from Izunia’s mouth, dripping sluggishly down his face until it beaded off of his chin. Instead of dropping like a string of drool, the fluid instantly coalesced into a dark haze, which slowly coiled in the air before vanishing from sight. Emet-Selch couldn’t quite take his gaze away from the vile sight. It made his heart beat faster, hope blossom in his chest. There was so much _potential_ there…

“As tempting as the idea is, I’d have to sire a few male whelps, and then not name a successor before I’m afforded that luxury.” He raised a brow at Ardyn. “So eager to kill me, are you?”

“Oh, no. It’s actually quite nice, speaking to another immortal.”

Emet-Selch focused on the disgusting mass writhing within Ardyn. It was revolting, and yet… in Zodiark’s name, it felt _good_ to speak to someone _new_ who didn’t feel like a fragment of a person. If speaking to a facsimile felt this refreshing, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like, come the Rejoining. 

All the more reason to look past the vileness, and use it to usher in the truth.

“So, no desires to have Niflheim take us over? One Empire subsuming another must be a temptation, for a Chancellor.”

Ardyn snorted, and the darkness left his visage, leaving only the handsome, ragged man beneath it. He waved a dismissive hand. “You’ve set Garlemald to fall under its own malice. I’ve set Niflheim to collapse under its own greed.” Ah. Well, there it was. He hated the Kingdom of Lucis for a personal reason, and Niflheim was a means to an end. Did they name him ‘Adagium’? Was he cursed by them? There would be so many leads to follow on. Emet-Selch could hardly merit that he’d have to play at mortal squabbles as Solus when this was more interesting.

Ardyn turned, leaning back over the railing. A smirk tweaked his lips. “And that was an interesting choice of words. What do you expect? Maybe if you ask, I can answer.”

“Did you make that Foras?”

“The Starscourge made the Foras.” Ardyn’s smirk deepened. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes.

“And the bleeding out is what kills a man nicked in the neck by a bullet. Did you fire the metaphorical pistol?”

“I did.” He shrugged. “I wanted to learn a little of Garlemald from someone who believed in it. That required a small sacrifice, and a little threat, too.”

“And that is why you were the footsoldier my… _coworker_ , as you put it, saw?”

“Precisely. I can change into anyone I have…” His features began to twist. He was younger, with the bump of the third eye forming on his forehead. “... _subsumed_.” The voice was different, too, lighter, with less depth to it. Emet-Selch found himself looking at a young and fresh-faced Garlean. He and Ardyn were about the same height, though this one was slender, with blond hair.

“Fascinating,” Emet-Selch said. He gestured for Ardyn to come closer, and when he did, he prowled around him, checking this new form from every angle. This was different from the vessel-taking that he and his folk did. “And you take everything that he knew?”

“I do. I know more about your brand of Magitek than I could have learned by myself. And I have rather more of a sense of grandeur and majesty about _you_ than I thought was possible.” He laughed, and as he did so, he let himself transform back into himself. It wasn’t slow, yet it felt indulgent. Emet-Selch quite enjoyed the smooth transition from the higher laughter to the low, dark chuckles. He could appreciate a bit of theatre.

“Oh, not me. That’s Solus zos Galvus… a rather fine part, but not the actor himself.” He tilted his head back. “Just as I imagine Chancellor Izunia is a part, and not the man behind it.”

“Ah, you’ve seen right through me! Twice, in so few meetings!”

“And?”

“And I suppose I do want to meet the actor, and swap cards.” He bowed, and though this one was less mocking than before, there remained a theatrical irreverence to his movements. “Ardyn Lucis Caelum. Not that it means much, in this place, with you.”

It didn’t - right now, at least. He knew the kings of Lucis went by the name _Lucis Caelum_ , and that was a delicious nugget of information. He could use that, later. For the time being, establishing trust with this conglomerate of the Starscourge was more important.

And besides, it’s not like his _own_ title would mean much to him.

“Ardyn Lucis Caelum. You can call me Emet-Selch.” He flipped his hand a few times, and gave a small incline of his head. “It’s so good to finally make acquaintance with something that’s not _dull_.”

* * *

If there was one thing to be said about taking a vessel, it was that the enjoyment of creature comforts was magnified. Emet-Selch could easily see why all these things were pale and weak, yet it was pleasant to indulge every so often. Being Emperor allowed that in spades. Solus’ bed was massive, with a firm, supportive mattress and plenty of soft pillows. 

He was laid back against them, Ardyn’s heavy body pressed against his. He gripped his broad shoulders as he pulled him closer still. Ardyn smelled dark and ashy, like a banked fire. Emet-Selch inhaled deeply. His free hand cupped his cheek, feeling the prickle of stubble as he pressed his lips to his. Ardyn opened his mouth to him. Their tongues slid against each other; Ardyn tasted smoky and dark, and there was a heat to him that wasn’t quite canny. More than anything else, however: he felt _real_. Yes, the weight of his soul was an abomination, but for now he could ignore it, and pretend that it was natural. That this was the way things should be. A small moan rumbled in his throat, swallowed by their kiss.

Ardyn broke away, chuckling low and dark. His hand came up to touch the side of his neck. The rough pad of his thumb stroked softly down his throat. “Moaning for me already? One wouldn’t have thought the Emperor touch starved. Don’t you take those loyal subjects of yours to bed?”

“Imagining that, are you?” Emet-Selch smirked, sliding his hand from his shoulders to his hair. He tangled his fingers in that red-violet mane and pulled his head back. The reddish stubble on his jaw tickled against his lips as he spoke. “Is that what you do for your Emperor? Arrange bedmates for him? Or warm his sheets yourself?”

A low groan rumbled in Ardyn’s throat, mingled amusement and disgust. “Are you trying to put me out of the mood? I thought you wanted this.”

Emet-Selch kissed his pulse point. He imagined biting into it, and feeling that black ichor drip across his lips, Ardyn seeping above him. Oh, they could paint a world with this. Would this be a solution for Igeyohrm’s misstep in the Thirteenth? 

He was jostled from his thoughts when Ardyn gripped his legs and slung them over his hips. He gave a cry of surprise when he hauled him flush against his crotch. It was quickly replaced by pleasure, when he felt Ardyn’s substantial bulge press against his own.

“No more teasing, is it? I suppose we’d best get down to business, then.” He raised his hands from Ardyn’s hair and snapped his fingers. His heavy robe vanished, revealing his long limbed body for Ardyn’s inspection. Those golden eyes roved over him, his grip against his thighs dimpling against the muscle. Emet-Selch smirked. “What? Not what you were expecting?”

“Hard to say. You slouch almost as badly as I do.” Ardyn’s rough hand cupped his cock. The scar tissue on his palm was an oddly smooth sensation compared to the rest of that harsh, warrior’s grip. Emet-Selch gasped, his cock twitching in his grip.

“W-well,” he puffed out, raking his hand through his hair, “let me see if I was right in my private assessment, now.”

Ardyn languidly stroked down his length, dragging his calloused touch against his sensitive flesh. He gave a satisfied grunt before sitting back. Emet-Selch’s cock throbbed from the lack of attention, but he ignored it for now and leaned up on his elbows, watching as Ardyn began to shed his layers.

And shed them.

… and shed them.

Emet-Selch tutted by the time Ardyn was down only to his shirt. He could see the smirk on the man’s lips, the amused spark in his eyes. “You take far too long. Let me.”

He held his hand between them and snapped his fingers again. It was difficult; Ardyn’s clothes were not of this star, and they didn’t _quite_ want to obey Emet-Selch’s magic. But he knew what he was doing, and soon Ardyn was bare above him. He was well toned, broad of shoulder, with a carpet of that red-violet hair over his chest, and the edges of scars creeping around his sides. Emet-Selch immediately laid his hands on his back. His hands travelled from shoulders to waist, feeling the bumps and twists of scarring all the way down. His brows raised; someone had brutalised this man, yet Ardyn didn’t flinch from the touch. If anything, some of that hardness had come back into his eyes, that fierce spite. If he could change his form, did he wear these to prove some point? 

Emet-Selch ran his hands up his back again, letting his nails press gently into the skin. Ardyn gave a pleased groan, baring down over him. Freed from his trousers, his cock was thick and long. Ardyn rolled his hips, pushing that girth against Emet-Selch’s own penis. He moaned, tossing his head back against the pillows and enjoying the rutting.

“You are _magnificent_ ,” he purred. Haloed in the dim light, there was something amusingly deific about the man. A twisted saint, a bearer of unimaginable horror. Oh, yes, Emet-Selch would destroy a pale and fragmented world with him. He just had to figure out the best way to do it.

For now, though…

“I’m feeling a bit primeval.” He gripped Ardyn by the hair and pulled him down, raising himself up to meet in the middle. Their kiss was long and hungry. Emet-Selch broke it, breathing his words over Ardyn’s lips. “So I would very much like it if you would flip me over and rut me right into the mattress, Ardyn.”

Ardyn’s hand framed his face, his thumb brushing over Emet-Selch’s lower lip. He smirked.

“Far be it for me to deny such a delicious option.”

Ardyn’s large hands settled on his shoulder and hip. Emet-Selch was all limbs, but he was used to this body by now that he moved with the force of Ardyn’s rearranging, and settled quite comfortably on his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder at the man, admiring the way he looked, leaning over him, cock pressed to his thigh, and drizzling lube onto his fingers. He let himself enjoy the animal pleasure of that sight, and the promise of what was to come.

His yellow eyes met Ardyn’s golden ones, and Ardyn pushed his fingers inside of him. Emet-Selch couldn’t see them from this angle, but the stretch felt good. His lips parted in a small sigh as he relaxed, feeling Ardyn’s thick fingers scissor and curl inside of him. One curl in particular had him moaning and lowering his head to the mattress, his hips jolting. Ardyn’s chuckle was a pleasant rumble behind him.

“There we are,” he heard the man purr. He curled his fingers again, lingering over his prostate, stimulating it with small nudges of his fingertips. Emet-Selch arched his back, causing Ardyn to let out another soft, dark laugh. “Such a deep arch! I thought I’d have to ask nicely for that.”

“Mm… this isn’t ‘into the mattress’, like I requested.” Emet-Selch glanced over his shoulder at him, lips parted in a pant, but still managing to smirk at him. 

Ardyn rolled his eyes, but the flash of teeth in the light let Emet-Selch see his grin. “Well, if you’re sick of the foreplay,” he said, removing his hand and gripping Emet-Selch by the hips. Firm hands spread his cheeks, and Emet-Selch felt the head of Ardyn’s slicked cock pressing against his hole. “Who am I to deny you?”

He pushed forward. Emet-Selch dropped his head to the pillow, his hands curling in the soft sheets. Ardyn’s fingers had been broad, but his cock was substantial. It spread him open as he hadn’t been for a while, and he breathed out sharply to adjust to the stretch. Ardyn moved slowly, pressing forward inch by inch as if savouring it. Emet-Selch could hear him moan behind him, a low growl in his throat that he knew he would remember whenever laying face down in his bed.

Slowly, Ardyn pushed forward until he bottomed out. Emet-Selch panted, feeling stretched wide and so incredibly full. It was a deeply animal sensation, beneath him, and yet he was more than willing to indulge this time. Ardyn’s hips pressed against his ass, his hands holding him firmly by the hips.

“That’s it. Good man.”

Emet-Selch laughed, a strained but genuine thing, and pushed back against Ardyn. He looked over his shoulder at him, hair a disarray and a flush high on his cheeks. Ardyn smirked at him and leaned forward, pressing his broad chest against his back. Emet-Selch gasped as he bit the shell of his ear. 

“Into the mattress,” Ardyn rumbled against him, and kissed his jaw. He planted his hands to either side of Emet-Selch’s head and pulled out of him. The sensation was an odd one, a sense of pleasant pressure lost. Just before it became unbearable, Ardyn thrust forward. Emet-Selch moaned as he was pushed with the momentum. It felt incredibly good, to just be held and _had_ by someone who felt _real_. 

Ardyn set a mounting pace. The temptation to simply lay there and indulge was shockingly high. Emet-Selch nearly laughed at the thought of making his new asset do all the work. That wouldn’t do at all. He began to move with him, arching his back to meet his movement, fingers fisting in the sheets. His cock throbbed, desperate for attention to match the constant thrusting he was taking. Emet-Selch reached down to palm himself, stroking roughly every time Ardyn moved.

He could feel his orgasm mounting. The rushing feeling within as that thick, hard cock pounded him mingling with the slick glide of his hand around his cock. Just as he was going to give in, Ardyn slowed almost to a stop, taking him down from that high. He slammed a hand between Emet-Selch’s shoulder blades, forcing him completely down. Emet-Selch gasped; his hand was trapped between his own cock and the mattress. He could feel Ardyn throbbing within him, that massive dick of his filling him so perfectly.

“Turn,” Ardyn panted, pulling out. It was such an intense loss of sensation that Emet-Selch didn’t bother waiting to quip at him. He wanted to meet that high that was beneath him, and so he rolled onto his back, spreading his legs and reaching for Ardyn’s cock. Ardyn’s laugh was more of a growl as he lined up with Emet-Selch’s hole. He gripped his thighs again, fingers biting into the muscle as he angled Emet-Selch up while thrusting in.

The angle allowed Ardyn to fully sheathe himself inside of him. His cock slid home, the long drag of it forcing his hole wide and pressing against his walls. Emet-Selch threw one arm around Ardyn’s shoulders, pulling him down as he was thoroughly fucked against the mattress, the bed shaking with the force of Ardyn’s thrusts.

“Touch yourself,” Ardyn panted, his breath hot against his ear, “Emet-Selch.”

It sent another twist of pleasure through him, to hear that title uttered by new lips. Emet-Selch was only happy to oblige, reaching down between their bodies and once against wrapping his hand around his cock. He stroked it from root to tip, soon losing all sense of pace as he jerked himself hard. Ardyn’s cock was an unrelenting force inside of him, and he let himself be driven fully out of his mind as his orgasm took over. Stripes of cum spattered his chest, and he let out a long, satisfied cry as he was taken.

Ardyn thrust into his too-sensitive body once more, and began to pull away. Emet-Selch, still half in his own daze, reached around to grab him by the hips and keep him against him. He wanted to feel that throb and twitch as Ardyn came inside of him, like an animal marking his mate. Ardyn gave a choked noise as he came, not quite a moan, and Emet-Selch saw the way black fluid flickered on Ardyn’s face, there and gone, as he fought for control over his body.

And then it was over. A pleasant ache blossomed in Emet-Selch’s hips and legs. Ardyn lay atop him, his heavy body barely supported by his bent arms. Emet-Selch shifted, moving his by now quite sore hips as Ardyn pulled out.

“Mm,” Emet-Selch cracked open a languid eye to look at him. “Now, I’m going to sleep. You’re welcome to stay or go, but I’d not be adverse to another romp like this in the future.”

Ardyn laughed, a ragged, rough sound, and flopped onto the bed beside him. “Quite.”

* * *

“It is as you said,” Lahabrea said, appearing in his solar the next afternoon. “The Starscourge isn’t just a disease that adapted to save itself from curing via light aether. It’s become something else entirely.” He folded his arms, tilting his head. “It could infect anything not already infested with it. Even other Voidsent.”

Emet-Selch leaned back in his chair, smiling. 

“That’s good to know, isn’t it?”

“If it can be harnessed, it could save Igeyohrm’s mistake.”

“Oh, I think I’m making quite good in roads with harnessing it,” Emet-Selch said, subtly shifting in his seat. “Now, I advise keeping Igeyohrm working in Niflheim… but we ought to have the others learn what they can of the Kingdom of Lucis.”

“We’ve been broadly looking into them, along with the subjugated kingdom of Tenebrae.” Lahabrea looked sharply at Emet-Selch. “What have you found out?”

“I have reason to believe that the Starscourge and Lucis are inextricably linked.”

“Discussions with Izunia?”

Emet-Selch straightened his back, shifting his hips again. “Something like that.”

“And what do you advise in particular?”

“Their lineage and lore. See if you can find out anything,” he steepled his fingers, remembering black ichor as it seeped from a handsome, kingly face, “about Adagium.”


End file.
